by Nikki Duncan
Sweet hell. She intended there to be next times. He’d obsess later over how many.
They stumbled free of their pants and shoes, slowing a tumble to the floor with some shaky grabs at a nearby work table. Fabrics and drawings fell into heaps. They may well be ruined by the time she finished with Trevor, but she only cared that they provided cushioning on the hardwood floor.
“Inside. I want you inside.” She clutched at Trevor’s hips and arched into him. Her ears rang beneath the heated rush of raging blood.
The tenderness and patience from their last time was gone. In their place raged lustful hunger and a desperation for satiation. Their first time had been a mad dash to the finish line. It had actually been their most common approach.
She loved the madness as much as the tenderness. She especially loved that tonight hadn’t settled on the tender side.
Whether it had been opening up on the beach, remembering how to relax in crowds, or feeling the thrill of his passion on the Ferris wheel, Trevor had cracked the shell she’d been hiding behind and she desperately wanted to feel alive. Crazed.
He nuzzled his nose at her neck and thrust. Filling her, rubbing her clit as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, he took her soaring to skin tingling heights.
She arched off the floor with a scream gurgling in her throat.
He thrust again.
Her heart hammered. Her face flamed.
“Trevor.” His name sounded more like a groan as she strained toward the building orgasm.
“Lori.” He withdrew. Hovered. “I want you to enjoy this.”
“I am.” She clawed at him.
“I want more of this. More of you.”
“Me too.” Arching up again, she tried to take him back in but he moved back with her.
“Not just sex, Lori.”
“I know.” She would agree to anything he asked if it would mean another thrust into her, because another thrust would mean an orgasm. “Please, Trevor.”
With an answering grunt he drove his hips forward and filled her. Her inner walls quaked and quivered. He responded with short pumps, bumping her g-spot over and over until her eyes rolled back and she screamed.
His answering bellow joined hers as he followed her over the ledge where the scent and sight and sound fused into a mass of feeling which fluttered deep inside even after the orgasm eased and they settled together on the satin.
He’d reminded her who she was, of the self she’d locked away for the sake of professional survival. The self she’d known briefly before Whitestone. The self she didn’t want to lose again.
He’d freed her.
“You’re very thoughtful…” He propped himself on an elbow and twined a lock of her hair around his finger.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Maybe.” He kissed her softly. “Unless you’re thinking of anything other than how you want to spend the next hundred years or so with me.”
“Definitely not that long.”
“Then how long? Be specific.” Though his tone and touch remained casually relaxed, his mood spoke of seriousness. He’d already laid his intention of marrying her out there. Hell, he’d laid it on a brightly lit light table so she had no way of missing it.
A part of her, a big part, clamored that she accept him. The idea was so tempting and decadent and rich, the words trembled so near the edge of her tongue she feared they’d spill over. Hundreds and hundreds of years. Through this life and all to come.
“Lori.” He rolled to his back, taking her and the satin fabric caught between her back and his hand with them. “I’m not letting you go.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“But?”
“I can’t give you what you want. I can’t marry you, Trevor.”
The seriousness of his mood poured onto his face and into his gaze. He stared for silent seconds. Then silent minutes. He stared until her skin began shrinking and her heart trembled, afraid he would take her rejection and walk away.
Not being ready for marriage didn’t mean she didn’t want a relationship with him. Neither did she know how to explain herself in a way he could, would, accept.
“Do you have any plans for—”
Her chest ached. Whatever he was about to ask she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.
“—the next week?”
A week? That she could handle. “No.”
“Spend it with me. Wake up with me every morning. Go to sleep with me every night.”
“Okay.” It was an easy thing to agree to, as it was something she’d never stopped wanting regardless of how she’d thought she shouldn’t.
Apparently satisfied with her answer, he fell into a long silence. When he spoke again, a vulnerability she’d never have expected vibrated his voice. “Is there a chance, even a small one…? Do you think you might change your mind one day?”
He was grasping for a sliver of hope and she found herself eager to appease him. “There’s a chance.”
She rubbed his side, just above his hip and smiled. “I’m not ready to get married. I still have things to learn about myself. But I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re asking for a full-on assault, Lori.” The hope he’d been losing grip of buoyed and danced in his eyes with schemes of mischief.
“I’m strong.”
“Me too. I’m going to convince you to marry me.” He tugged at the satin and nearby tulle and pulled them over her. “And when I do, you’re going to make your dress from this fabric.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. She didn’t say as much, but the idea was a delicious one.
“And after I’ve married you and danced with you, thinking about this night all the while, I’m going to get you alone, strip you of your dress and make love to you again on this bed of satin.”
“Mmm.” She kissed his neck, already looking forward to the night he described. “You talk pretty.”
“I’ll show you pretty.” With laughter rumbling his chest, he rolled her over and kissed her long and deep until the laughter turned to naked emotion and she felt his feelings as deeply as her own.
“I love you, Lori.”
“I love you, Trevor.”
“Christmas is a few days away.”
“I seem to remember something about that.” Though it kept slipping her mind when she buried herself in work.
“I want to take you to my parents’ for Christmas. I want them to meet the woman who killed my streak of carefree relationships.”
“Umm.”
“My mother in particular is going to love you.”
She licked her lips.
“Breck will be there with his new fiancée.”
“Actually, that doesn’t make it easier for me.” She wasn’t sure she was ready for his family scene, especially with Breck there to remind her of her past, but for Trevor… “Okay.”
It may not be long before she was ready to accept his proposal, but in the meantime she would enjoy his promised assault.
About the Author
Heart stopping puppy chases, childhood melodrama and the aborted hangings of innocent toys are all in a day’s work for Nikki Duncan. This athletic equestrian turned reluctant homemaker turned daring author, is drawn to the siren song of a fresh storyline.
Nikki plots murder and mayhem over breakfast, scandalous exposés at lunch and the sensual turn of phrase after dinner. Nevertheless, it is the pleasurable excitement and anticipation of unraveling her character’s motivation that drives her to write long past the witching hour.
The only anxiety and apprehension haunting this author comes from pondering the mysterious outcome of her latest twist.
More can be found out about Nikki at her website www.NikkiDuncan.com. Nikki is also on Twitter www.twitter.com/nduncanwriter and Facebook at www.facebook.com/nduncanwriter.
Look for these titles by Nikki Duncan
Now Available:
Sensory Ops
Sounds to Die By
Scent of Persuasion
Coming Soon:
Sensory Ops
Illicit Intuitions
Between her eyes and his ears, there’s a world of sensory overload…
Sounds to Die By
© 2009 Nikki Duncan
Sensory Ops, Book 1
Rookie FBI Agent Kieralyn Beckett is in a delicate position. Her team refuses to buy into her theory that a string of kidnappings is connected. If she pushes too hard, they’ll discover the latest victim was her college roommate and boot her off the case. A garbled recording is the only evidence, and there’s only one man who can decipher it. The hard part will be convincing him to take the case.
Blinded as a child, NSA “listener” Ian Cabrera spends the majority of his time analyzing data while secretly searching for his father, a missing CIA operative. His plate is full, but Kieralyn’s passion and determination, as well as the erotic beat of her heart, spark his interest. So does the mention of his father’s code name on her recording.
There’s only one way to follow this new crumb-trail of clues without tipping her off about what he’s really after. Convince her she needs him to be her undercover partner, despite his handicap. Between her eyes and his ears, they make one beautifully orchestrated team. Every time they touch, though, the arousal they generate creates one red-hot element of distraction…
Warning: This title contains a blind hero who knows his way around a woman’s body, steamy kitchen sex, verbal sparring, kidnapping evasions, fiery near-death experiences, and heart-pounding sensory overload.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Sounds to Die By:
Time was running out. Every minute of the clock on the sea blue wall ticked with a spine-tingling intensity. Returning to the office empty handed, losing that stupid bet, and proving to her unit that she didn’t belong with them was not an option. She’d already tried a power play and failed—you had to have power to pull them off. It was worse since the guys on her team were too set in their ways.
Like Ian Cabrera and the security guard—Dante, according to the sign on his desk—blocking the way to the inner sanctum of his lab. Dante’s militant bearing might intimidate some—likely anyone who came into contact with him—but she was here. She was determined. They wouldn’t block her forever. She would use any tool at her disposal to see Cabrera.
“Dante.” If flattery didn’t work, she’d wait him out. “Please call him and ask.”
“You’ve heard his answer.”
“Not in person.” Cabrera’s refusal to help, passed through Dante and paperwork stamped Reject, had every man in her unit goading her.
“I’m sorry, Agent Beckett. It is policy that all requests be submitted in writing. He is not to be disturbed.”
Her jaw clenched painfully. She drew on the patience she’d worked so hard to maintain since starting her job a year ago and bit back her instinctive smartass reply. If working in the FBI Specialized Crimes Unit had taught her one thing it was how policies worked. And how they had to be manipulated in certain cases.
“I submitted the paperwork.”
“To which he responded.”
“I understand that Mr. Cabrera doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.” Desperate not to fail, Kieralyn ignored the internal feminist that insisted on women’s equality and pulled out the big guns. Affecting her sweetest smile, she leaned forward on the granite-topped cedar desk and hoped her charm worked on Dante.
His pupils flared. His dark gaze shifted briefly to the V of her sweater.
“It’s a matter of life or death for at least six women.”
“Every case is life and death.” He shook his head sadly. “You have his answer, Agent Beckett.”
“Dante.” Beginning to feel desperate, she reached down and grasped his hand. When he met her gaze, she creased her forehead in concerned interest. “Do you have a family? A wife? A daughter? A sister?”
His eyes narrowed. His head cocked to the side. “Yeees.”
He may be suspicious of her, but she had his attention.
“If they went missing, wouldn’t you do something? Something possibly against regulations, but that you knew to be right? Something that could mean getting them back?”
He hesitated. His dark eyes and chocolate-skinned face softened.
Yes! She mentally pumped her fist in the air. She was close.
“Mr. Cabrera is very particular about not being interrupted.”
“It’s just a phone call, Dante.” She squeezed his hand and shifted a little closer. Intimacy, flirting, whatever. She wasn’t afraid to use her femininity for the greater good, which in this case meant finding kidnap victims and stopping others from being taken. It meant doing whatever was necessary to help Lana, even if her use of guile was one reason her teammates gave her a hard time. Some situations didn’t allow for pride.
“I would really appreciate it. The women I’m trying to help could be depending on his expertise.”
“He is not going to like this, and that argument will not work with him.” He picked up the phone and an instant later was speaking quietly. “Sorry to interrupt you. Yes, I know. There’s an… So you’ve said.” He cleared his throat. “There’s an FBI agent here. She insists on seeing you.”
Half the battle won, Kieralyn stepped away and surveyed the plush lobby complete with a flat-screen plasma on one wall for entertainment and deep chairs that would offer hours of comfort. Did they really have so many visitors to this small building, set apart from the others in the NSA business plaza, that they needed such luxury? Or did people have to wait that long to be seen?
Tension pinched between her shoulder blades. She would see Ian Cabrera. He was the only person who could prove her right. Or wrong, as her unit insisted. If they were right, if she’d manufactured the theory for personal reasons, if her theory was entirely off-base it would be one more arrow in the target on her back. If they were wrong, she just might win a little respect. Finally.
“Yes, I told her… She is.” Dante frowned and bowed his head slightly. “She insists… I will let her know.”
She gripped the handle of her bag in her fist and bit back her anxiety long enough for Dante to return the phone to its cradle. Standing a few feet away, her stomach lurched as if she’d just jumped from a plane with no parachute. She swallowed the fear of failure bubbling in her throat.
“What did he say?” He had to say yes. Just had to. Otherwise, she would be reduced to … Well, she wasn’t sure what she’d be reduced to in her mission for answers.
“You have one chance to convince him.”
The tightness eased between her shoulders. She was certain she could convince Cabrera to listen to her recording. “Thank you, Dante. Thank you so much.”
“He is not pleased.” Dante moved around the desk and headed toward the hall. “I may not have done you any favors.”
“He’s not going to come down on you for this, is he?” She might have considered it earlier, but she’d been too focused on her end goal. On her need for answers. For resolution. Those needs still outweighed any sense of guilt.
“On me, no.” He led her around a corner and keyed in a code on the keypad by the second of two doors.
Possibilities and answers waited on the other side, closer than she’d expected to get. Cabrera could dish out whatever he wanted. She’d take it. She’d formed a thick skin thanks to her teammates. Good guys beneath gruff surfaces, they were set in their ways and entertained archaic ideas about where women belonged. She couldn’t change everyone’s opinion.
Only one mattered at this moment.
In racing, you’re in or you’re out. Sometimes both at the same time…
Burning Rubber
© 2011 Pamela Britton
Extreme Racing, Book 2
Go ahead, call Callie Monroe the queen of fools. She already does. After NASCAR slammed its doors in her face, she came up with the idea for the X-TREME Racing League. Now she’s all but relegated to pit row while her business partner—
aka XRL’s bankroll—takes the credit.
One look at NASCAR champion Derrick Derringer red-lines Callie’s fantasy gauge. And when he actually notices her next to her Playboy-hot boss, he makes her sweat.
Derrick has always been attracted to the studious type, but Callie’s got the cherry on top of her beauty and brains: she’s a gear head. She’s also scared to death of him. He’s never had to work hard to get a woman in his bed, but with Callie, he finds himself changing tactics for a prize he never expected. Her heart.
Callie has no intention of being Derrick’s next “checkered flag”, but if she’s to lure him over to XRL, she’ll play the game. A dangerous one. Not only because his kiss sends her focus sliding out of control. There’s a saboteur who seems intent on putting XRL into the wall—no matter how many people have to die.
Warning: The author doesn’t guarantee this book will help you “get lucky”, but does have documented proof that the love, laughter, naughtiness and hot, hot, hot sex in this book will leave you gasping for air. Dangerous curves ahead!
Enjoy the following excerpt for Burning Rubber:
It had to be a dream.
She couldn’t be lying on a bed, Derrick Derringer staring down at her, the remnants of his kiss still imprinted on her lips.
“What’s going on?” she heard herself ask. He was blurry.
“You fell asleep.” He drew far enough away she could see him. “I drove you to your hotel room.”
There was something wrong with that scenario. She knew it, just as she knew she should be doing something right now—ordering him from her room, maybe. Yelling at him.
About what?
She didn’t know, she just knew something about this scene was all wrong, she was just too frickin’ tired to figure out what it was.
And so, in the end, all she said was, “Oh.”
“Go back to sleep.”
She closed her eyes. Fingers stroked her forehead. She smiled. That felt good. Her mom used to do that to her when she was little.
